When Akkayya gave a long-winded explanation, the older man giggled, jiggling his paunch. Oorkudumban too turned away to hide his grin.

Akkayya was sent to deliver seedlings at Govindappa Nayakkar’s maternal aunt’s town. The place was a day-long trek from the village of Gopalla. In those days people measured distance by time. It added up to an average man’s ability to walk in a day. It was almost dusk when Akkayya reached the town.

‘Where is the house of Venkatammal from the village of Gopalla?’ he inquired.

In villages rarely was the given name popular. The people of the village would confer nicknames on people: this could either refer to a particular reason, or to the person’s character or the house he was born in, or his profession or a special ailment he had, or simply be a tease.

When Venkatammal had moved to this town after her marriage, there were already several other Venkatammals. So people called her Thundapandu Venkatammal because of her fair complexion. ‘Thundapandu’ in Telugu was the name of a red cucurbitaceous fruit.

When Akkayya asked for her house, the people did not get it. It was only after a while that they realized he was asking for Thundapandu Venkatammal and took him there.

But when he reached her house Venkatammal completely ignored him. She did not even welcome him in. It was her husband who was passing by who invited him and helped him lower his head load. Akkayya answered his queries and made light of Venkatammal’s strange behaviour.

She had always been proud of her good looks; also she was born into a wealthy household and married into an equally important family. She’d only speak to people of fair complexion. If they happened to be heavily bejewelled and rich, she’d become their best friend. If not, she’d treat them with disdain.

When Akkayya returned, people at the Kottaiyar house asked about Venkatammal’s health.

‘Oh, everyone there is fine, except poor Venkatammal,’ he said.

‘Why? What’s wrong?’ they demanded, concerned.

‘How do I say this? I’m trembling, already,’ he replied, clearing his throat and swallowing the spit. With a sad, long face, he continued. ‘Both her eyes are affected and she’s losing her sight. They look terrible.’ He collapsed to the floor, with his palm on his chin.

The womenfolk burst into sobs, cursing Venkatammal’s husband for not informing them about her plight.

Mangaiathaar Ammal sent for Akkayya and asked for more details. ‘She has a very regal, delicate constitution. How is she bearing up, Akkayya?’ She wept. ‘I prayed often that those wastrels in that town did not cast evil eyes on her beauty. Now my worst fear has come true, Ezhumalaiyaane …’

The news spread across the village of Gopalla. People streamed in from all over to inquire about their daughter.

Mangaiathaar Ammal called for Thachappa Nayakkar and ordered, ‘Dey, go at once to Venkatammal’s town and bring her back if you can.’ She told Govindappa Nayakkar to make the arrangements.

The infection that Akkayya had attributed to Venkatammal was quite horrific indeed. He described how the infected flesh grows thickly and disgustingly from the eyes, like a pair of horns. The eyelids are stuck forever wide open and eyesight is soon lost. Little children run away screaming in fear. Usually this affects only one of the eyes; very rarely does it affect both.